New column up at THC, finally. I am the suck at that deadline, man.
Local Poets’ Union No. 813
In other news, my aunt and uncle sent me an aebleskiver pan for my birthday–which, OMG. I grew up with these and have wanted to make them forever. The pan also weighs about 500 pounds and I shall call it the Widowmaker. Anyway, you need the pan to make the ‘skivers. They’re like little pancake balls except far yummier, and you dip them in jam and powdered sugar (and dark chocolate espresso sauce if you’re feeling experimental like we were yesterday). Normally they just sort of magically appear out of the kitchen–I’ve never actually seen any of my relatives make them. But not today!
I made them! It only took about three alien-looking ones before I figured out the flip-fu of turning those little things with a toothpick, and I made tons, and they were fabulous, and I have hereby leveled up my Danish proto-grandma abilities. I am inordinately proud of myself. I even used my great-great grandmother Moster’s recipe, which is old enough to suggest using a hat-pick instead of a toothpick.
For dinner I proceeded to make meatballs from scratch, another thing I’ve never done, though the other side of my family is Italian and just as committed to endless iterations of meatball recipes as the Danes are to aebleskivers. I made them with lamb because lamb is far superior to beef, and even the vegetarian grailquestion declared them delicious. I corrupt her more each day. Mwa ha ha. So I also level up my proto-strega abilities and can now safely cast “Sicilian Evil Eye” and “You Damn Kids Get Off the Lawn” with impunity.
Working all day on the copyediting until 4:30 when I start cooking the Beltane feast, which is honeycakes with edible flowers, Maiwein, cioppino, garlic bread, strawberry-pomegranate crisp, and blueberry pie. Fear me or I will feed you till you burst.